'How is your Excellency in his health?' asked the Evening Glow. She was quite unlike her rival, but no less attractive, with her white skin, flame-coloured hair, and hazel eyes clear as the water in a mountain tarn.
The Duke had complained of ill health lately, and though this evening he felt rather better than usual, languidly answered, from force of habit:—
'Ah, madam, you can easily conceive to what condition I am reduced. My mind is occupied but with one subject, how soonest I may be laid to rest beside my dove.'
'Nay, nay, your Excellency must not speak so!' said Cecilia with deprecating hands. 'Think, if Madonna Beatrice could hear you! All sorrow comes from God, and must be accepted even with thankfulness.'
'You speak well,' replied Il Moro, 'I would not murmur. Nay, then, God forbid! Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.'
And he raised his eyes to heaven, pressing closely the hands of the two ladies.
'May the Lord reward you, my dear ones, that you have not abandoned the poor widowed one!'
He wiped his eyes, and then drew two papers from the pocket of his mourning attire. One was a deed of gift by which he gave the rich lands of the Villa Sforzesca to the Monastery delle Grazie.
'But,' said the Countess, astonished, 'I had thought your Highness adored this villa.'
'My love for terrestrial things is dead. And, madam, what need has one man with lands so large?'